Another Secret
by Inusagi
Summary: Jack visits Ianto during his suspension only to discover the young archivist is still keeping secrets. Janto. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I still don't own Torchwood. It's really kind of depressing.

A/N: This is pretty AU, and I'm still not 100% sure where I'm going with it. It takes place a little more than a week into Ianto's post-Cyberwoman suspension.

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It had been over a week since Ianto's cybernetic girlfriend had been discovered in the basement and Jack thought it was time to check up on his tea boy. Ianto had needed time alone with his grief and jack needed time to cool his temper. Owen, in a rare display of compassion, had been by to toss the place for guns, knives and pills. Tosh had tried to stop by for tea and sympathy, but had been given the brush off. It was Jack's turn now.

On the drive from the Hub to Ianto's flat, the Captain rehearsed all the things he wanted to say.

He had to figure out the right words to show his condolences while also making sure that Ianto knew that the _thing_ they'd killed wasn't Lisa.

He had to apologize for not being there for the Welshman, for letting things get this far without seeing through the secretiveness, the deception. And, God in heaven, for ordering Ianto to execute his love. He had no excuses for himself on that account. He'd just…felt so betrayed and wanted nothing more than to punish his young lover for being in love with someone else. It was cruelty, pure and simple, and Jack was ashamed.

But..but most of all, he wanted to know how much of the intimacy they'd shared had been manipulation and distraction. How many times he'd followed the quiet man into his bed, explored his body…how much of the passion was a ploy to keep him out of the Hub at night?

Tramping down the insecurity and nervousness churning his stomach, Jack knocked on the door.

When the door was opened, he was nearly shocked into silence. He was so used to seeing Ianto in a suit or nothing at all, but he stood before him now in jeans and a too-big t-shirt, his feet bare and stubble darkening his soft features.

"Hi," Jack finally said, cursing his absurd lack of suaveness.

"What do you want, Jack?"

"Just to talk," He splayed his hands out in what he hoped was an innocent gesture. "Can I come in?"

Ianto pulled the door in, using his body to block the rest of the entrance. "Now's not a good time."

Red flags flew up in Jack's mind. Maybe the incident with the cyberwoman made him too suspicious of secretive behavior, but he just didn't trust the way Ianto's hip was wedged against the door jam, the way his feet had slid apart to a better defensive position. He reached for his Webley without thinking.

Bitter blue eyes followed the motion and hardened. A twisted sneer looked out of place on his features. "Are you going to shoot me because I don't feel like entertaining?"

"What are you hiding now, Ianto?"

The younger man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before moving away from the door. "Come in, then. I'd appreciate it if you left the gun with your coat." He gestured vaguely to a coat rack and padded out of the hall.

Hanging up his greatcoat, Jack meandered in the direction Ianto had left in, taking note of the changes in the flat. The last time he'd been here, the walls were bare and the place was littered in boxes. He'd even teased Ianto about being so obsessive with the mes en place of the Hub and its Archives when his own flat had sat unpacked for months.

He was surprised by the changes. Where the place had been cold and almost institutional before, a pleasant, homey warmth radiated. Pictures hung on the wall next to watercolors of medieval castles and sunsets.

He'd expected Ianto to have been wallowing over the past week, completely broken and possibly suicidal. He'd expected to find the place, still cold and empty, but decorated in empty liquor bottles and half-smoked cigarettes.

He had not expected to find a toddler coloring at Ianto's kitchen table.

"Captain, this is my son."

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A/N 2.0: So, there it is! Suggestions and comments are welcome, as always. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This story is one of the rare ones that worked better as a vague idea in my head. I am genuinely interested in suggestions!

Also, I couldn't find anywhere that pinpointed the timeline for Cyberwoman, just between June (the Canary Wharf battle and when Ianto joined Three) and December. So I'm going with Cyberwoman happening in the last week of October and this being the first week of November. It may mean nothing, but it makes my thoughts a bit more ordered!

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Jack just stared. He would have been less shocked if he'd found Ianto halfway through building a bomb or injecting some kind of exotic alien drug into his veins.

The boy, who couldn't have been more than three, looked up at him curiously. He didn't look much like his father, with his thick curls and skin that reminded him of the sweet, creamy coffee Ianto made for himself. But the eyes…the eyes were identical—the same stormy shade of blue he'd gazed into so many times over the last few months.

Ianto just watched Jack, standing in the path between the boy and himself. He looked almost like he was ready to tackle his boss at the first sign of movement. It stung, but Jack couldn't really blame the man, not so soon after…after Lisa.

Jack just looked between the Joneses until Ianto moved over to the boy. "Ifan, why don't you go put on your jimjams and pick out a story. I'll be there shortly to help you brush your teeth."

Once the toddler had padded his way out of sight, Ianto sighed. "Go ahead. I know you have questions."

There was only one that he _needed _to know, before any others were even thought of. Jack knew he'd been dense when it came to the Welshman and his secrets, but this was ridiculous. "I've been here, Ianto_. I've slept here_. How…how do you hide a small child in a flat this size?"

Ianto gave him that look, the one Jack hated, the one that said _you are an imbecile_. "Don't be stupid, Jack. Ifan was obviously not in Cardiff. He's been in London, with Lisa's parents."

"Do they know…?"

"They know she's dead. Thought I was, too, until I showed up on Monday. I told them I'd been in a coma." His voice broke a bit.

Jack took a step towards the other man but stopped when Ianto backed away from him. "Why would you let them think you were dead? Why come to me for a job? You could have taken the kid, gone somewhere safe and forgot all about aliens and Torchwood."

There was that look again. "I…I couldn't face him without _trying_. You'd have never seen a boy so attached to his mum as Ifan was," Ianto laughed, but it was a hollow, empty sound. "How could I look at him knowing his mum had suffered while I did _nothing_?" Tears were welling up in his eyes. "It should have been me, not her. Not Lisa."

"You did everything you could, Yan. But there wasn't anything you could do. She was gone the second the conversion process started," Jack soothed, pulling Ianto into an embrace that, for once, he didn't resist. They stood there for several moments, just holding on to each other until a small voice broke through.

"Tada, story time."

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A/N 2.0: Well, hopefully that clears some things up. "Tada" is, according to a quick Google, the Welsh equivalent to "Daddy." If you're Welsh and read that thinking I'm an idiot, please let me know. As always, comments and suggestions are appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Torchwood isn't mine. The story mentioned in this is also not mine, but it is a favorite of my son's. It's called Just Go to Bed by Mercer Mayer. I have read it so many times that I did not even actually look at the book for reference tonight.

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. Not that you're interested in my excuses, but I had finals and then a rather obnoxious break up that resulted in me moving. So…I haven't had a lot of time to write. I've tried to make this longer than normal as a shameless plea for forgiveness.

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Ianto pulled away from his boss as if he'd been electrocuted, and rubbed his eyes with shaking hands. Jack could see the effort it was taking him to compose himself, to cover his features in his ever-stoic mask.

He hated it. The Captain had originally thought it was just the young man's way, to be solid and dependable and detached…but after last week, he suspected it was all just a lie. He'd seen more emotion from Ianto Jones in that one night than he had in all the time he'd employed the sharp Welshman. If he hadn't been so angry at the betrayal, Jack would have found it completely fascinating. And who would have thought the quiet little archivist would have packed such a punch. It had broken his damn jaw.

Turning away from his employee, he focused his attention on the little boy and gave him what he hoped was a winning smile. "Hi, Ifan. I'm Captain Jack. Your daddy is feeling kind of poorly right now, would you mind if I read you your bedtime story instead?"

The little boy seemed to seriously consider it for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons in his little mind before nodding earnestly. Ianto, tears still welling up in his stormy blue eyes, looked for a moment as though he would protest, but Jack simply scooped the toddler up and carried him down the hall. It wasn't hard to figure out which would be Ifan's bedroom; there was only one room Jack had never bothered going into when he'd slept over.

Again, Jack was surprised by the homey quality that had taken over the flat. The walls were pale blue and were bedecked in all manner of flying things...aeroplanes, helicopters and even colorful hot air balloons. The furniture seemed to all be white and rounded, giving the impression that they were high in the sky. The thought of how much care Ianto must have taken in there pulled on Jack's heartstrings.

Settling the little boy under the covers he asked "What story are we reading tonight, little soldier?"

"Just go bed!"

"You just want to go to bed? You don't want a story?"

God, how does a three year old even give the "_you are an imbecile"_ look? Does everyone in this family do that? "No. Just go bed!"

After what seemed like an eternity of having no ever-loving clue what the kid was talking about, he was finally handed a book…and then suddenly felt like he wasn't nearly as smart as he'd led himself to believe. The book was called Just Go to Bed and featured a weird creature…was that a hedgehog? A porcupine? "Oh. Okay. Let's do this."

Ifan settled more comfortably into his bed and snuggled close to a brown stuffed rabbit. Jack started to read.

"I'm a cowboy and I round up cows. I can lasso anything. Dad says…"

Jack quickly realized that Ifan had his father's mind. He asked questions, elaborated on the various characters the hedgehog-porcupine was pretending to be and even did an adorable imitation of his father's stern voice every time a sentence started with "Dad says…" It was precious.

After one or two (who was he kidding? It was more like eight or nine) re-reads, the boy was finally asleep. Jack watched him for a few moments and lost himself in thought. It had always struck him how angelic children looked while sleeping, so fragile and innocent. In that moment, he couldn't do anything but forgive Ianto. He'd been thinking that risking the world to save his girlfriend was too idealistic, too sci-fi romance novel, no matter how much he loved her. But it was more than that. Lisa had been the mother of his child. No matter how callous people believed he was, Jack knew the urge to move mountains just to prevent your baby from feeling one moment of sadness. How could he fault Ianto for that?

With a sigh, Jack made his way back to the kitchen, where he found Ianto staring into a glass of whiskey. The Welshman was no longer crying, but his eyes were still puffy and red-rimmed.

"Thank you, for that. I'm sorry I…I should have been the one to read to him," he said quietly, his words slurring slightly. "You didn't have to. I…I expected to be shot on sight. You said…after L-L-Lisa…after what happened in the Hub last week, that if there were any more secrets…if I didn't come clean then, you'd kill me. I just didn't know how…"

"You were protecting your son. I can't fault you for that, Ianto."

"I just…I just don't know what to do, anymore. I don't know how to carry on knowing what I've done, the destruction I've caused. Dr. Tanizaki…Annie. It's like I'm cursed, Jack. Poison. It's like just being in my life is a death sentence. Everyone I knew in London. My dad. Suzie. Lisa. Damn it, even the pizza delivery girl. How am I supposed to raise Ifan when everyone I know dies? I should have let him grow up with his grandparents, believing I was dead."

Jack suspected that Ianto had had a bit more to drink than he should have but didn't stop the younger man from pouring himself another glass. He'd never heard Ianto talk this much, certainly not about himself, his feelings. Maybe it was just the thing he needed. "It wasn't your fault, Ianto. It was the cyber programming, it tricked you. It used your feelings to manipulate you. You're only human; of course you would do everything you could have to save the mother of your child. You're not poison. Just…very unlucky."

An awkward silence surrounded them for a bit while Ianto continued to pour himself generous glasses of the burning amber liquid. Neither man really knew what to say. After what seemed like ages, Ianto broke the silence. "Why are you here, Jack? Why did you come here tonight?"

"I told you, to talk to you. We haven't talked yet."

Ianto sighed. "What's left to talk about? You all could have died. Worse, you could have all been converted. Is it about wanting to know how I kept this all hidden for months on end? Or wanting to know why I couldn't shoot her, even knowing it wasn't her anymore, not my Lisa?"

Jack didn't know what to say...yes, he'd come over for answers, but they all seemed so petty now. At that very moment, all he honestly wanted to do was take Ianto into his arms and kiss away all the sadness. Instead, he just watched Ianto pour himself another drink.

"Or did you just come to ask if I fucked you to keep you from wandering the Archives at night?"

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A/N: And there we go! As always, comments and suggestions are welcome. I hope to have the next chapter soon (Saturday at the very latest), where our gentlemen will either have their chat or Ianto will pass out drunk. Let me know which you prefer!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not miiiiiine.

A/N: You know…I'm beginning to notice that I write Drunk!Ianto a little more often than is normal.

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Jack flinched a bit at Ianto's bluntness, he couldn't help it. "Did you?"

Ianto closed his eyes and took a deep breath as silence stretched out between them once more. Jack crossed the kitchen in tentative strides before sitting across the table from his erstwhile lover. Seconds ticked by. Minutes. The slow, even rhythm of Ianto's breathing was beginning to convince the Captain that their little chat was over before it really began.

"No. I knew how you were when I came 'round for a job, obviously," Ianto chuckled to himself. "Your reputation precedes you, you know. They…they say you'll shag anything that moves. I've seen office memos with crude little drawings of you…of you and a Dalek." He was full on laughing now. "E-jac-ulate. E-jac-ulate."

Jack cringed. He'd lived more than more than a century and died countless times since he'd been exterminated on the Gamestation, but Daleks still filled him with fear. It made him slightly nauseous to think that people were making light of it…even unwittingly. He let Ianto have his little laugh and supposed that he really couldn't fault the gossip mill for their topic. He wasn't quite the playboy he'd made himself out to be, but he did flirt outrageously. He couldn't deny it. And he supposed that, at an organization that saw it as their mission to collect aliens and extraterrestrial information like magpies at a treasure trove, it was only a matter of time before they'd gotten more creative with their little pairings. Still…why Daleks?

"I'd ne'er given a thought to shaggin' you, though. A good flirt, maybe. 'S why I had that rubbish outfit on, at Bute Park. Lisa liked it, used to joke it'd be good for goin' on the pull. Thought that if you're always thinkin' with your knob, like they said, all I'd need to do would be to tease a bit. But then…"

"Then what?" Jack prompted, gently taking the tumbler away from Ianto and taking a long sip of the amber liquid.

"Then…then I met you. In that warehouse. With M-Myfanwy. I wanted to kiss you. Wanted to touch you. I felt like that aftershave of yours was gettin' under my skin. Like I'd been drugged. Did you drug me, Jack?"

"No," he answered flatly, mildly insulted and not bothering to correct him about the aftershave.

"I'd never kissed a bloke before you. Never wanted to. Never thought about it. I told myself that it was the adrenalin, the bloody pterodactyl. That I was too stupidly horny and under too much damn presh-presh-pressure looking after Lisa, keeping her alive and trying to pull the wool over your eyes. But it never went away. I worked myself to the b-bone, between Lisa and the disaster that was your archiving. And still…_still _all I could think about was if you tasted as good as you smelt."

Jack didn't know what to say. He hadn't even known that Ianto hadn't been with a man before. He'd just kind of assumed…the younger man had always reacted so beautifully, so eagerly to him. God, he'd certainly been easy to trick, hadn't he? Where had his head been these last months?

"I've felt so guilty, Jack. 'M so sorry. I know 't doesn't fix it or make 't okay, but 't was killing me. I was betraying Lisa with you, betraying you by hiding L-the cyberman. But I didn't know what else to do. Had to save her, Jack. Had to. Loved her so much. Ifan needed his mam. But, damn it, I wanted you. Loved every second. Every fumble in the archives, every night you were in my bed." Ianto groaned. "My sheets still smell like you. Been sleeping on the couch, 'cause every time I'm in my own bed all I can think of is your cock, of fuckin' you into the mattress and tastin' your spunk on my tongue."

Oh, that's right. In his pants. That's where his head had been. Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes, thinking of baseball and Daleks and cold showers. There could not be a less appropriate time to put on the moves.

When the tightness in his trousers finally eased, he opened his eyes. Ianto was passed out, snoring softly with a small puddle of drool collecting on the table beneath him.

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A/N 2.0: Oh, so I'm changing the rating from T to M…because I feel like I'm pushing the limits on language alone. As always, suggestions and comments are encouraged. I've got a one-shot about half written that will be up later this week, and will endeavor to have the next chapter of this one up soon! xx


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own ze Torchwoodz.

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Ianto woke to the smell of coffee. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten into his bed, let alone his track suit bottoms, but there he was, burrowed beneath the warm duvet. Outside of the pounding in his head and the churning of his head, he felt great. He glanced at his alarm clock.

8:43.

Wow. He hadn't slept this late in ages, not before his suspension and certainly not since. Ifan was a notoriously early riser…

Ifan!

Ianto tore through the house, panic seizing him. Worst-case scenarios flashed through his head as he went from room to room. It seemed like every possible horror occurred to him—from curious fingers in electrical sockets to Cyberman invasion—until he skidded to a halt in his kitchen. His son and his boss were sitting together at the table. Ifan was laughing into his breakfast and Jack was clearly telling a story, his arms thrown wide, describing something that was clearly meant to be large and hilarious.

"Rose and I couldn't stop laughing. And then the Doctor said…" Jack's voice trailed off and became more serious. "Good morning. Look, Ifan. Your daddy is awake."

His son, all elbows and curls, launched himself up into his arms, "Tada! Cap'n Jack made waffles. And coffee. But he said I'm too short for coffee, so I got cocoa instead. With milk."

"That sounds very nice, Ifan. Did you tell thank Captain Jack for your breakfast?" Ianto's heart was still pounding and so was his head. He set the boy down and watched him rush up to Jack, who sent him back to his breakfast with a smile.

Jack sauntered closer, all masculine grace, while Ianto just stood in the doorway. He was hungover, awkward and embarrassed. He'd never felt like much standing next to the renowned playboy Captain Jack Harkness but he'd never felt more…inadequate around him than he did at that moment, unshaven, half dressed and reeking of stale whiskey.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "For this morning…and last night."

Jack smiled softly. "I made coffee. Not as good as yours, of course, but it'll help with that hangover. So will this." He slipped a couple paracetamol into Ianto's palm. "There's a couple waffles warming in the oven if you're hungry…Had to hide 'em from that little guy of yours. For someone so small, he sure can put it back."

The Welshman looked over at Ifan fondly, but a calloused hand on his jaw brought his attention back to the man before him. Jack's blue eyes were intense on his mouth. The pair swayed into each other, almost imperceptibly. When the Captain spoke, his voice was gruff.

"I have to…I have to go to work. I'd like to come back tonight, if it's okay with you. I'll bring takeaway."

Ianto nodded. He didn't trust his voice, didn't trust that if he parted his lips just a bit he wouldn't press them against Jack's. He hated himself for it—his world had gone to hell, Lisa was barely cold in the morgue and it was Jack who put her there—but he couldn't help the aching loneliness he felt that only ever really went away when Jack was there. So nodding would have to do.

He tore himself away from temptation and entered the kitchen in long strides. He heard the _click_ of the front door closing before his fingers wrapped themselves around his mug and his son's cheerful, inquisitive voice filled the room before he filled it with the industrial strength brew.

"Tada, how come I'm too short for coffee?"

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A/N: I'm not gonna lie to you, I think this was a filler chapter. Sorry! I aim to have the next installment up within the next couple of days. Unpacking is a bit more of an ordeal than I'd anticipated. Also, I have a poll up on my profile for which kind of one-shot I should do next. I'm going to take it down Saturday! Peace and love!

**Next up:** Jack and Ianto play happy families OR Jack decides to Retcon Ianto after all! Let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Once again, not mine.

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Jack sat in his office, worrying a tablet of Retcon between his thumb and forefinger. He was trying to decide what to do about Ianto and it was giving him more trouble than he'd expected.

The way he saw it, making a decision here had two basic problems. The first was that he'd grown accustomed to fancying himself the hero of his own story, the handsome prince in shining armour who rescued damsels in distress and slay nasty dragons. In the years since Alex Hopkins had killed himself and the rest of the team, it had been easy to see himself that way. He rescued Tosh, reached out to Owen and Suzie, accepted Ianto. He worked in the shadows to save the innocent citizens of Cardiff…Earth, really…from all the things that go bump in the night.

Now, though…Now he wasn't so sure. First Gwen came swanning in, insisting he didn't have a heart and then Ianto—mild-mannered Ianto, with all his secrets and deception—told him he was a monster. The biggest monster of all. And, objectively, he couldn't honestly blame him. The entire incident with the cyberman was a clusterfuck. If he'd truly been the hero of this story, he would have handled the situation with…a bit more finesse. There were so many things he could have done, but instead of thinking rationally and just…fixing things, he'd done everything he could to torture Ianto.

He hadn't thought about it, of course. It was just…jealousy and vindictiveness. But he'd ordered Ianto to kill her, when it would have been much easier to do it himself. He'd sprayed her…it in barbeque sauce and set a pterodactyl to attack her when he had no choice but to watch. And when it was all said and done, he'd ordered a grieving, emotionally drained man to come and clean it all up.

Ianto was right. Those were not the actions of a hero. It didn't stop him from wanting to take the "heroic" choice in this matter, though. If he could figure out what that choice was.

The second problem was _Ianto_. All reason and objectivity flew out the window when he thought about Ianto Jones. Everything was a jumbled mess of jealousy and possessiveness and betrayal. Part of him wanted to punish the younger man for his betrayal. And betrayal it was, no matter the motives. He'd been lied to and manipulated every second. Every touch, every witty reply, every cup of coffee. It was all a lie. That part of him wanted to be the one Ianto couldn't bear to live without, not Lisa. It smarted, because he'd thought they were good together, that they had grown so close over the few months Ianto had been with them.

He'd been wrong.

The other part of him felt nothing but guilt. Even if there was no way to guess there was a cyborg in the basement, he should never have ignored Ianto's mental state…Jack knew the kind of hell that his archivist had survived. He knew what it was like to survive a Dalek attack, and when you paired that with Cybermen, of all things, it must have been more horrific than even he could imagine, with all his years and experience. But he'd just set him to do his bespoke job, one that didn't even really exist before, without supervision or counseling or any of the hundred other things Jack could think of _now that it was too late. _

It would be easier for him to slip one of his neat little pills into Ianto's coffee tonight, set him up as a librarian or a researcher. Something boring and safe, where he'd be able to raise his son and die of old age. Jack thought that maybe that would be the _right_ thing to do, but his mind supplied every possible problem with it, like he was talking himself out of going through with it. He told himself that the biggest problem was that he couldn't Retcon Ifan, because it wasn't safe for children. If the boy were to mention Jack or a story he'd told, it could be enough of a trigger to break Ianto's dose.

But…if he were honest with himself, the biggest reason he didn't want to Retcon Ianto was that…he'd be Retconning Ianto. Every moment they'd shared—from the playful banter bordering on sexual harassment to catching Myfanwy—would be gone. Every touch, every whimper, every gasp and moan that had filled Ianto's dark bedroom. All forgotten. No matter how much of it was a lie, memories were something Jack treasured. He couldn't take that away, no matter how strong the urge to punish.

Sighing, the captain placed the sedative back in its customary place in his greatcoat and headed out to get takeaway. He only hoped he could decide what to do before he got to Ianto's flat.

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A/N: Ah, well, I know I promised some interaction between our favorite boys, but Jack wanted to have his little moment. He was really very insistent about it. I'm working on the next chapter as soon as I post this one, and I'll have it posted tomorrow (I've learned the hard way that our lovely hosting website doesn't always like posting two chapters in one day…). Comments and suggestions are, as always, cherished and appreciated. Ta!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: If I owned either of these lovely characters…Well…Let's just say that I'm firmly on "Team Gareth David-Lloyd for 12th Doctor"

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Ianto gave Jack a warm, if slight, smile when he answered the door that evening. He was dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt again. Something that looked suspiciously like it came from someone's nose was smeared on his shoulders and one of his white socks was covered in blue paint, but he looked much better than he had that morning. It could have been that he was clean shaven, but Ianto definitely gave off the air of a much younger, carefree man than Jack was used to.

"You may want to let me put your coat in the closet. Ifan's nose is like a faucet today," the younger man explained. "And we're still working on the concept of handkerchiefs."

"You're giving a toddler handkerchiefs?" he asked playfully, but passed over his greatcoat anyway.

Ianto shrugged. "It's what I use."

"Has anyone ever told you how odd you can be? Just give the kid the box by your bed. Less laundry. Well, when it comes to snot, anyway." He couldn't resist teasing him, and he dipped his voice down to a low murmur. "You could always use a handkerchief instead…much softer…not to mention their more…_creative_ uses."

He was rewarded with a blush. Jack chimed in again before Ianto could respond, his tone normal. "I brought curry. I'll take it to the kitchen. You, Mr. Jones, have snot on your shirt."

Ianto groaned. "That's the third time today. I'll run out of shirts at this rate. Kids are gross. I'll be right back."

Jack chuckled at the Welshman's retreating back and shuffled into Ianto's little kitchen. He set about getting their meal plated. Ifan, arms out and _vroom_ing, was captured while running past and Jack made quick work of his leaky nose with a paper towel. He was putting up a valiant effort into convincing the boy to sit at the table when Ianto returned in a fresh shirt and a box of Kleenex in his hand.

"I didn't mean to take so long. I found some in my hair."

"Not a problem. Did you know planes do not eat curry?"

Ianto sighed. "Ifan, you love curry. You haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

"Planes don't eat curry!" Ifan insisted. "Planes don't eat! Planes _flyyyyyy_!"

And off he went. Ianto sat down, shaking his head slowly.

"Well, at least he won't be smuggling food into the airport." Jack said.

"It's apparently a thing with toddlers, this not eating thing. On Tuesday, all Ifan wanted to do was eat, from sun up to sun down. But other than that, he's eaten very little. The paediatrician claims it's perfectly normal."

Jack laughed. "When my daughter was his age, she refused to eat anything that wasn't in triangles for almost a month. Drove her mother up the wall."

"You have a daughter!?" Ianto exclaimed, then caught himself. "Er…how old is she…maybe she can do a play date with Ifan…or something."

"Yeah. I'm not sure that'd work out. She's…a bit too old for play dates." He gave Ianto a wry smile. "She's got…oh, about 8 years on you. I can see about her son, though. Steven's just turned seven, might not be too old."

"How…?"

"I'm older than I look," he answered, as mysterious as ever. "Your supper is getting cold."

In light of recent events, Ianto thought it was prudent not to push, so they sat in relative silence—_vroom_ing could still be heard from elsewhere in the flat—until Jack spoke again.

"I spent all day deciding whether or not to slip Retcon in your dinner."

Ianto put his fork down, despite knowing that he'd already eaten enough that it would make no difference. "Did you?"

The captain shook his head, a sad smile casting a cloud over his features. "I couldn't. It didn't seem…right."

"Thank you."

They fell back into silence again. Jack finished his meal. Ianto just pushed it around with his fork. Jack wondered if he should have waited until _after_ Ianto had finished eating before bringing the amnesia pill up…or not brought it up at all. The young Welshman had the perpetual look of being underfed.

"Have you thought about what you'll do with Ifan once you come back to work?"

Ianto shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Er…no. I…haven't thought that far ahead. My original plan was…for him to stay home with…with Lisa." He sighed. "I have a sister, Rhiannon, who could watch him, maybe, but she's all the way out in Newport and the long hours would be difficult to explain. I run a tourist centre, after all."

"Do you want to quit Torchwood?" Jack asked, forcing his voice to stay even.

The younger man let out a bark of laughter. "And let you lot undo all the hard work I've put into those archives? Of course not."

What Jack said next left his mouth before it reached his brain. "When Alice was really little, Lucia used to bring her into the Hub. We set up the small conference room with toys and whatnot."

"You…you want me to bring Ifan to work with me?"

Jack willed his brain to work as he opened his mouth to speak. Before he so much as formed a word, his wrist strap went off. Rift alert.

"I've…got to go."

Ianto just nodded and led Jack into the entryway. Ever the gentleman, he retrieved his boss's coat and held it out for the man to shrug into. He was smoothing the fabric at the shoulders absently when Jack turned around in his arms.

The walls seemed to close in on the pair. Jack felt the closeness like an electrical charge, a pleasant tingling on his skin…drawing him closer to the other man. Ianto…_was just so close_. He could feel puffs of warm breath on his own lips, see Ianto's blue eyes darken with desire.

His wrist strap beeped again, louder. Jack pulled away and opened the door.

"Can I come back tomorrow?" he asked, cursing the huskiness in his voice.

Ianto nodded slightly, lips parted and face flushed. Jack forced himself out the door, coattails billowing behind him.

v^v^v^v

A/N: As always, comments and suggestions make me happy. Peace and love.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Okay! Sorry for the long break. I had a bit of melancholy/block. This chapter was originally going to be something else, but Ianto wanted his little introspective, since Jack had gotten one, so it's a bit of a short chapter.

Disclaimer: I can't even convince my family that I own the granola bars in the pantry, let alone claim Torchwood as my own. I can't decide which is more disappointing. I like those granola bars.

^v^v^

Ianto felt like he'd stepped into a surreal sort of parallel universe. It reminded him too much of sitcoms he'd watched when he was younger—the kind where, no matter how bad things had gotten, everything was neatly solved within the thirty minute episode.

Jack had come around every evening for a more than a fortnight. He'd play with Ifan, who completely adored him, while Ianto finished cooking. On five separate occasions, he'd bribed the boy into actually eating his tea in exchange for exciting stories from his time as an RAF pilot. He brought Ianto's son presents frequently—remote controlled helicopters, plane-shaped floor puzzles and a plush pterodactyl that was promptly dubbed Myfanwy—and pointedly ignored teasing that he was trying to buy his way into the curly-haired boy's affections. After the marathon of bubble baths, pyjamas and bedtime stories, Jack would sit with him on his too-small sofa. Sometimes they talked—at least, Jack talked and Ianto listened. Sometimes they watched Top Gear or James Bond. Sometimes the Captain, who was obviously exhausted, would fall asleep and Ianto would cover him with a light blanket and leave him to rest.

It worried the Welshman how casually domestic they'd become in such a short time. He hadn't thought much about it until tonight. Jack had rang to say he wouldn't be there until late that night, which launched Ifan into the most dramatic strop Ianto had ever witnessed and put him into a lonesome, melancholy kind of temper. He didn't want to consider the possibility that Jack had become such an integral part of his son's life and _especially _not the possibility that his boss had become so important in his own life. Not after what happened.

The only sounds in the flat were the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking clock and the soft, rhythmic huff of his own breath. The irony didn't escape him that the same silence he'd prayed for while his son was throwing his tantrum made him uneasy now.

It was a difficult subject for his mind to ignore, however, when he didn't know what to do with himself. Lately, all his time had been spent either looking after Ifan or with Jack. He ignored the fluttering he felt in his stomach when he thought of the other man's rich, deep laugh. He tried not to think whether his deception had ruined the...the _thing_ they'd started. He struggled not to remember the way Jack's lips...hands...skin felt. And he fought to push away the nagging voice that asked him what kind of man would fantasize about the man who'd murdered his girlfriend when her body was barely cold.

Ianto nearly jumped out of his skin when the sharp knocking—_shave and a haircut, two bits_, predictable—broke the silence. In just a few long strides, he opened the door to find Jack, eyes shining and feral, soaked to the bone and covered in blood.

Jack's mouth was on his before he even shut the door.

^v^v^

A/N 2.0: Good news! I know what is going on with this story now. This portion of it is nearly done—Probably just two more chapters, unless our boys decide not to cooperate. Some of you have expressed interest in seeing how Ifan's presence would work within future canon storylines, so I'm going to continue it in different stories—some of which will only be oneshots.

In other news: I'm going to be doing a 31 day one-shot writing challenge for the month of July. If you would like to play, too, let me know. I'm happy to send along the prompts. Peace and love! xx


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Not miiiine. Never mine.

A/N: So. Sorry about the wait. If you are interested in why, you can message me or w/e, but otherwise I'm not going to bore you with it, but I will promise to make a real effort to get chapter 10 to you within a week.

Super extra mega thanks to my buddy **Jorge**, or as I like to call him, **Benjamin von Secksipants**, who is not in this fandom (despite my constant begging), but played sounding board anyway. He is the peanut butter to my jelly.

^v^v^

Ianto reacted without thinking, letting himself be pulled against Jack's wet body and be swept up in the kiss. Jack's hands were everywhere, in his hair, tugging at their clothes.

He _wanted_ to be swept away, to stop his endless over-thinking for just a moment, to let Jack lead him to something _more_. He'd wanted Jack for months, really wanted him, and he'd had him more times than he could count, but it didn't feel like _him_. It was for Lisa. For Ifan. It was deception and lies and manipulation. He wanted Jack, just once, in his bed because it was what he _wanted_ rather than because it was necessary.

Ianto pulled off Jack's coat and let it fall to the floor, not caring about the blood that would undoubtedly stain his carpet. He tugged at Jack's braces, tore open the usual blue shirt with impatient fingers that sent buttons flying throughout the hall.

The Captain moaned into his mouth and pushed him against the wall. Ianto rocked his hips into Jack's, desperate to get closer, desperate for the friction. He pushed the ruined shirt from the other man's shoulders and struggled with his belt buckle.

"_Fuck_, Ianto," Jack gasped, tearing his mouth away to gasp for air. "I want you. I want you so bad."

Each lungful of oxygen brought a little more reason to his befuddled brain. "Not—not here. Ifan," he ground out, tugging Jack's hand.

They made it to his bedroom, pausing every few steps to kiss or just touch or for Jack to kick off his boots and once to peel off Jack's soaked white undershirt.

Once inside, Jack recaptured his lips, urging him backwards until his calves pressed against the mattress and then down, hovering over him like a golden god.

Ianto's fingers fumbled with the zip of Jack's trousers, finally succeeding when Jack dragged his lips down to his throat.

"Up," Jack said. It took him a couple of heartbeats to process it before he slid further onto the mattress, settling his shoulders down on the pillows and pulling Jack down to lay between his parted legs, and closer for a kiss.

He whimpered when Jack pulled away to pull Ianto's shirt over his head and moaned when a hot, wet tongue lapped against one nipple, then the other. Without Ianto even noticing, Jack's trousers were gone and he was suddenly desperate to be out of his own jeans. The idea of even one piece of clothing between them was repellent, if only his fingers would work.

Jack laughed, sending pleasant vibrations through Ianto's chest, but he helped, hooking his long fingers around the denim and leaning back to tug them off.

He reached for Jack once his legs were free, hooking his calves around the other man's thighs to draw him closer. Jack's hand slid between them, cupping his palm through the thin material. He through his head back and moaned, relishing in the friction.

"Tada, my bed has bugs."

Ianto froze, a string of _oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fucks_ running through his head. Jack, thankfully, was quicker, rolling onto his back and pulling down a pillow to cover himself in one smooth motion.

"What kind of bugs?" he asked, nudging Ianto to stand.

"Lalien bugs. Told Myfanwy to eat 'em but she says dinos eat fishes and curry, not bugs."

The young father laughed, as much out of awkwardness as his son's words and scooped the boy up into his arms. "Dinosaurs eat anything, especially alien bugs. Let's see if she ate them while you were gone."


End file.
